


The Bats Have Left the Belltower

by BelaLugosi



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Fluff, Friends to Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Homophobia, M/M, Red Son Vibes, Vampires, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 18,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22971718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelaLugosi/pseuds/BelaLugosi
Summary: Simon Snow doesn't really follow Mage Politics like he knows he should -- like the Pitches, the family that took him in.  He knows he'll be important to it all one day, but that day isn't today and he's got enough on his plate, hasn't he?  The dark creatures that come for him, his budding friendships, the sudden proximity of his birth father, and trying to figure out why one of his best friends hates him suddenly has kept him very, very busy.  Oh, that and the Humdrum.He just has to keep his head above water and figure all that out, and then he can take the time to figure out his future in the World of Mages.  In the wars that are coming.__What if he was found and raised by the Pitches before the Mage got to him when he was eleven?  Where would his loyalties lie?  Who would Simon end up as?
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 159
Kudos: 196





	1. The Wraiths

**Fiona**

I almost didn’t believe it when I’d heard it. Like most people, I’d believed the rumours that Lucy had run off after splitting with the moron. And who could blame her? I’d die of shame if such a significant part of my life was tied to someone who unironically runs around in capes and tights. 

But a few years later, I heard the whispers. 

_ “And that Salisbury girl. That poor baby _ .”

_ “The baby... What happened to it?” _

_ “Dunno. Ma died before I could ask again. She wasn’t all there in the end. I think she meant to take this to her grave.” _

_ “Can you imagine? I wonder if that bastard sends her mum postcards from the States or something. How is there not a bleeding inquiry? That lot loves a good scandal. A trial.” _

The woman… the vampire... speaking was my age, and she was in mourning clothes. She and two others were sitting in a booth, knocking back shots and reminiscing. I was in a really seedy pub in Wales, looking for information about something completely unrelated.  _ Someone _ unrelated. Not the sort of place that you’d find many Mages, honestly. At least not ones with reputations to protect or Families to appease. Mages like me. I was never above getting my hands a little dirty, though, for the right cause. Used to drive Tasha mad.  _ Used to _ .

It didn’t take too much more eavesdropping to put the puzzle pieces in place. This woman’d been Turned, went into hiding, and it was the last straw for her mother and father. The pair slipped away from their connections to our World. Became all but Normal. They’d been outliers anyway. Not much power to speak of, no real status or money. The kind of Mages that sort of faded into the background, left our World behind. 

This one’s poor mum did what generations of low-powered nobodies had done - became a backwoods midwife. And if deathbed confessions to undead-daughters were to be believed, she’d attended the secret birth of Lucy fucking Salisbury, only a year or so after she’d supposedly run off for America. 

It was too big to be true, I thought. Not that Lucy was dead, but that Lucy’d died in  _ childbirth _ . Someone would have known if there was a baby. But then, maybe there wasn’t. Maybe she’d lost the babe, too. Maybe that’s what broke Davvy in the end? Lost his girl, his kid, and his mind. ‘Course, he was barmy from the beginning. 

Mages don’t give up their children. We just don’t. And if someone dies or can’t raise a kid, there is always a gaggle of friends and family that will jump in and take care of it. So maybe the kid died, too. It was still worth a look. 

And I knew what to look for.

\--------

Tracking someone by their family magic was not exactly  _ easy _ magic, but it wasn’t anything beyond me or the mountains of books in the Pitch library. I hadn’t been inside there in a few months. The books and dust reminded me of her too much. 

Since Tasha died and my brother-in-law had gone into a deep wailing depression, Pitch Manor had been my responsibility, and it seemed that the Pitch heir would be too. Malcom, the soft sod that he was, hadn’t even bothered to get Christmas together for Basil. I woke up sober on Christmas afternoon and headed up to the Manor, to face my sister’s ghost and give my nephew a present, and I’d found him looking sullen and  _ guilty _ . 

“I was bad, Aunt Fiona. I don’t think Father Christmas comes for children who kill their mums.” 

I swept him into my arms. “Love, you didn’t.”

“She came to save  _ me _ , Aunt Fiona. She’d be alive if it weren’t for me.” 

“No,” I shushed him. “Don’t be daft. You mum was as brave as they come. Of course she went to help you, but she would have gone to save the other kids, too, even if you hadn’t been there. Not your fault. It’s the vampires. She’d be alive if not for them.” I didn’t say it out loud, the last part I’d been thinking.  _ You would  _ both _ be alive if not for them. _

I moved back the next day. This house, my  _ family _ , wasn’t going to crumble while the farmer wailed. Merlin and Morgana. 

_ Basil. _ I looked over at my nephew, subdued and sad in the corner of the library with his violin. Just like his mother, in the determined way his stubby six-year old-fingers held the bow, pressed the strings. It was like if he concentrated hard enough on the notes he was trying to learn or the way the strings dug into the pads of his fingers, he could forget that she wasn’t here. I envied him; I pitied him. Grieving didn’t seem to be something he felt like he could do. I wished it was something I couldn’t do. 

That  _ he _ didn’t have to do. 

I sighed and set back to my work. I’d find this kid, if there was one. They’d be about Basil’s age, probably. Give or take. How hard could it be to hide a six-year-old Mage when you were  _ the  _ Mage?

\-----

Turns out, it was easier than I’d thought. I followed my spell, tracing Salisbury magic (strong, old family), all the way to a grimy boys home in Lancashire. 

The bastard did exactly the first thing I assumed no Mage would do. He’d given him up. Wrote his first and middle names on the boy’s arm and dropped him off anonymously. Right into the hands of the foster system. Care homes. A Magechild being raised without magic. In a place where he couldn’t learn to Speak, not really. 

I met the boy. He was all gold-bronze curls and flat blue eyes. But those eyes  _ sparked _ . There was a fire in him. He stood with his back straight, his gaze fixed. He dared me to start something. I liked him. He was going to  _ be _ something. 

The plan had been to find the kid. To use him as bait, or leverage. Something. I don’t know. Maybe I just wanted to take something from the man who was planning to take our World apart. To ruin the memory of my sister by taking her place as Headmaster. By becoming the Mage and turning the Families into villains. By  _ reforming _ us. All of us. 

But I couldn’t just take him. I couldn’t just ransom this boy. I’d cross a lot of lines to protect what was left of our reputation and power, but I couldn’t bring myself to put this grubby, dirty boy through more. Perhaps it was the fact that I’d recently lost my sister or that I’d been functioning as a pseudo-parent to my own motherless nephew. Maybe I’m a bit soft (I’ll kill anyone who suggests the latter). 

I didn’t sweep him away. I didn’t spell him. I didn’t do anything in my vicious little playbook. I straightened my blouse, put on a smile, and walked into the administrative office. 

A few exhausting hours and a couple of mostly harmless spells later (I didn’t have time to do this the Normal way. If I had to wait for clearances the Normal way, the Mage might’ve figured out we knew where he’d stashed the boy and come get him), and I was walking back to my car with Simon Snow. My ward. 

\-----

  
  


“What are you going to do with him, Fiona? Kill the boy?” 

I scoffed at my brother-in-law when he’d surfaced later that week to find his son playing with Snow in a sitting room. Basil was trying to teach Snow how to play a board game, but Snow wasn’t reading yet, and it made him slow to pick up the rules. He was getting frustrated. They both were. 

“‘Course not. Lower your fucking voice,” I whispered over a cup of tea. “He hasn’t done anything yet. And now he can’t. He  _ won’t _ .”

“He’d deserve it,  _ the Mage _ ,” Malcom spat. He was clearly still reading the papers that were left with his breakfast tray in the morning. He was as incensed over the  _ reforms _ as I was.

“Sure, he would. But the bastard gave him up. Put him into an orphanage. With  _ Normals _ . He either doesn’t care about the lad or is hiding him. If he doesn’t care about the child, someone should… Mage of his lineage being raised by nobodies…”

Malcom lifted a brow, “And if the intent was to hide the child?” 

I lifted one right back. “Then I’d want to know why. Who from? And you want to know what else, Malcom?” I asked.

He tilted his head, indicating that I should go on.

“If and when this all comes to a head... them against us... imagine if the Mage’s own son stood with us. The ones who found him in a care home and brought him into a family. Who kept him well, taught him magic. If you were him, would you stand with us or the man that dropped you off into the system and didn’t look back?” 

Malcom smiled his cruel, thin smile. “I’m beginning to see where you’re coming from. Will you change his name, then?”

“Why should I? He’s not a Pitch. And I don’t need to hide him. It’s all perfectly legal, of course, and if the Mage tries to fight this, it’ll mean owning up to abandoning a magical child. Think of the mess that’ll cause. He won’t fight me on this. Not for a while. He can’t…” I mused. “He stays Simon Snow. And he stays with us.”

Malcom nodded his head once and went back to his tea. I could already see the grief in his eyes being clouded over with something darker. More determined, more focused. Good. There was too much to do.

\----

  
  


**Baz**

“He’s different to us,” I told my aunt. We were spread out on the floor in a second floor study, surrounded by old records. Fiona would show me a cover every so often that had my mum’s steady, elegant script across it. She took notes on everything -  _ about _ anything.

“Course he is, boyo. Everyone’s different to us,” she replied easily, not even glancing up.

“No,” I protested. “Different to  _ all _ of us. He doesn’t talk much, or read. He doesn’t know many games. He doesn’t even have an instrument.”

“Well, he didn’t have a family, Baz,” she said softly. “No one to teach him words or games. No one to give him an instrument.” She slid the records to the side and moved closer to me. “You and me though, we’re gonna help him. That’s why he’s with your tutor, now. He’ll get caught up, turn him into a proper playmate for you.”

As apprehensive as I was about the new boy who smelled so strange to me, I was at least excited for that. To have someone to talk to besides my aunt and Vera. Without my mum around, days seemed all too quiet. Nights were so still that I could hear the wraiths moving even before the rest of the house was asleep. I never realised it was my mum that kept them at bay. I’d have to learn to scare them away myself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno man. I just do the things.
> 
> https://belalugosiisdead.tumblr.com/


	2. The Count

**Simon**

I was eleven when it first happened. It was the summer before I was set to start Watford with Baz. We were “camping” outside in the garden, just far enough from the house to feel like we were alone, but close enough that Daphne, Baz’s stepmum, could see us, or sense us with magic. Baz’s cousin Dev was over and we were practicing warming spells, trying to make s’mores without fire. 

I’ve never been good with words, and that sometimes made spell casting tough for me. Every so often Baz would “miss” his own marshmallow and hit mine, so that I could make a satisfactory sandwich. Dev was having similar trouble with his spells, but with no help coming from his cousin. It looked like Baz was gonna prove to be the best at  _ everything _ , magic included - the perfect git. I grinned. It didn’t bother me that much. I was glad to have any at all. 

Though I suppose that’s wrong. I had plenty of raw power, but almost no real control. No matter how hard I tried. How long I studied. The tutors Fiona set up for me still tried. They said it wasn’t like a well of power in me, but a deep, rushing river - an underground one. We just had to find a way to channel it. Bring it to the surface. Not long after that, Fiona had scheduled a tea with Lady Salisbury and come back with a handsome leather cuff for me. The leather was old, but soft and supple, it was obviously well cared for, and there was an ivory crest in the middle. It was the Salisbury crest. It belonged to my grandfather, and was meant for my uncle… my mother’s brother. But he’d been born with almost no magic, and thus never needed an instrument. They were glad to let me wear it. 

My cuff helped immensely. Soon enough I was working tiny spells on my own, but only spells I could sing. I was shit with words. After we realized that the disconnect between what worked and didn’t was  _ musical _ , Baz showed me the record room, joking that he’d bring the words and I could bring the music. He promised me I’d get better as he showed me how to Speak songs, and it was a relief to know that I wouldn’t always be trapped behind the first few years of my upbringing. I’d been struggling all summer to bring it all together (I would probably never be on par with Baz, he’s a bloody genius) and I was, like I said, just glad to be in a position to  _ try _ . 

Dev clearly didn’t share my sentiments, though. He stuffed a perfectly solid marshmallow into his mouth and whinged. “We can’t even have a proper campfire,” he said, knocking over the battery-operated lantern we were sitting around. Baz scoffed at him, but I saw his face sink. We all knew why neither Daphne nor Fiona let us light a real one. Baz hated being so different.

“Shut up, Dev,” I said with what I hoped was a good natured smile. “Just ‘cause you can’t cast a warming spell to save your life…”

“Oh like you can?” he shot back before I finished. “You think I don’t notice that Baz does half yours for you?” 

Baz piped up, “You should have asked if you wanted help, Dev. Sorry.” I hated that. Dev was being a prat and Baz shouldn’t have to apologize for it. 

“Why,” Dev sneered. “Snow didn’t have to ask. Is that part of the deal, then? He lets you snack from his veins and you do his spells for him?” 

Baz, who is decidedly  _ not _ a mouth breather, let his jaw drop. Dev knew about the vampire attack and the fact that Baz had been bitten. We all did. But we didn’t ever talk about it. Not because we were ashamed of him (well, me and Fi weren’t. Daphne neither, I didn’t think) but because one, it was a dangerous secret: if the Coven knew Baz’d been Turned, they’d have him defanged or murdered. And two:  _ Baz _ was ashamed of it. He still felt guilty for his mum’s death and he still thought of himself as a monster. Which, in my opinion, is something he could never be.

I felt the blood in my veins go cold and then so, so hot. “You take that back right now, Grimm.” I walked in between Baz and his cousin and squared my shoulders. This I knew how to do. I knew how to fight and if Dev kept pushing Baz, I’d blacken his eye. I didn’t care how cross the adults would be with me.

“Or what, Snow,” he laughed. Dev laughed at me, the prick. “Isn’t that why Fiona took you in? So you could bleed for him when the time came?” 

“Watch your mouth, Devlin,” Baz sneered. “You’re just put out and jealous and it’s turning you into a prick. Leave off.” 

“That’s rich!” Dev argued back. “You’re coming to his defense, too. Remember the first year he was here? You hated him. And now you’ve gone all soft. Now you’re best friends.”

“I didn’t hate him,” Baz said, standing. “I didn’t  _ know _ him. And of course he’s my best friend. He’s the only person I know besides my parents and Fi who don’t treat me like I’m some bleeding  _ curiosity _ ,” he spat. And then, more quietly, “Or burden.”

I hated hearing the desperate edge to his voice. Dev wasn’t usually like this. He probably really was just jealous and hurt. I opened my mouth to try and dissolve the tension when Dev said it. 

“Get bent, bloodsucker.”

Pain flashed across Baz’s face and that’s the last thing I saw coherently. The boiling of my blood grew more intense and my lungs filled up with smoke. The air around me felt thick with anger and I screamed. I ran full force at Dev and knocked him on his arse. I stood above him, ready to swing a fist into his face when I noticed the sparks flying from my fingers and way the entire earth seemed to be shaking. The heat was growing and my skin felt like it was splitting. I thought I was going to explode. 

“I’m sorry, Baz.” I said in a whisper over my shoulder. “Run. Get away.” 

I didn’t look to see if they were taking my advice and running. I was running, too. I was sure I was going to die, and I didn’t want to take Baz or Dev with me, even if Dev was being an arsehole.

I got as far into the Hampshire wood as I could before falling onto my knees and shrieking. I exploded in electricity and pain. That river of pure power bubbled to the surface and spilled over and it stripped my every nerve raw. The trees shook around me. 

The last thing I remembered thinking before I finally, blessedly, passed out was that I hoped Baz wasn’t too near. I felt on fire and my best mate was flammable. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno man. I just do the things.
> 
> https://belalugosiisdead.tumblr.com/


	3. The Crash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted it from my phone. Shit might look weird.

##  Baz

Simon exploded. There isn't a better word for it, at least not in English. He got so mad and frustrated (on my behalf) that he lit up the woods near my house like a magic nuclear bomb. 

Fiona and Mother and Father ran out when they heard Dev and I screaming and saw the flash. It looked like heat lightning and felt like a sonic boom. Our ears rang.

Mother cooed and fussed over Dev and me while Father fired questions at us that we didn't have answers for.

Fiona made a break for the tree line. 

Mother called Dev’s mum and draped us with blankets and calming spells. Dev was looking at me like he was the sorriest person on the planet. Serves him right. His jealousy and stupid emotional outbursts did no one any good when they  _ weren't  _ causing Simon to blow up. He needed to sort himself out and quickly.

What seemed like an aeon later, Aunt Fiona came back into the house, carrying Simon (I suspect  **Light as a feather, stiff as a board.** Fi loves the campy stuff) over her shoulder, her eyes were set like stone, but they were alert. She was determined but intrigued. I guess we all were. 

She dumped Simon on the settee next to the couch I was on, and she and Father started in on the healing spells. Daphne descended upon the lot of us with tea and biscuits. (We are an absolute parody of ourselves.)

I couldn't see much beyond the flurry of adults. Eventually Dev’s mum and dad came to pick him up. They exchanged quiet words with Father before ushering him out. He mouthed “I'm sorry” to me as he was escorted from the sitting room, presumably out the door.

When Fi and Father finally sat, wiping their brows and accepting cups of tea, I found my voice.

“Is...is Simon going to be okay?” I hated the hesitation in my voice. I was a Pitch for Merlin’s sake.

“I think so, boyo,” Aunt Fiona answered me. I could tell from her eyes that the crease on her brow that had been concentration and curiosity while working on Simon was replaced with a crease of concern for me.

“Basilton, what  _ happened _ out there?” My father's voice was strained and higher pitched than normal, still authoritative.

I forced my back straight and my eyes forward. “Dev couldn't warm marshmallows.”

“What?” Fiona said. 

“That's what started this. Dev couldn't do it and got mad about not being able to have a fire instead. He said some… rather rude things about me… And about Simon.”

Fiona arched a brow. I knew that meant I was going to have to be more specific. I hated mentioning the bite - acknowledging that I'd been Turned.

But I also knew that magic usually needed both words and intent. Maybe something said caused that reaction in Simon. I chanced a look over at him. He was wound in a blanket, but sweating. His flat blue eyes were open and unresponsive. 

I hated to rat my cousin out for words he probably didn't even  _ mean _ , but if this was an accidental spell, the adults needed to know what had happened, probably.

“He was being a prat about my... _ condition. _ Called me a bloodsucker. Said that the only reason I help Simon with magic is because…” I hesitated. They don't like it when someone questions why we took Simon in. Dev was gonna get so much shit for this.  _ Serves him right, too.  _

“He said I help Simon with his magic because that's what he gets in trade for serving as my blood bag when the time comes. That Aunt Fi took him in for that purpose.”

Father looked away sharply. Daphne made a distressed sound from behind Simon, wrapping her arms around his still form absently - she nurtures even subconsciously. Fiona’s eyes narrowed at me and then she shot a glance out the door where Dev had left with his parents earlier. I knew she was already thinking out how she’d chew him (them?) out later. Irrelevant now, though. 

“Whatever happened to Simon,” I said, keeping eye contact with my aunt, “I think was because he got mad. He was defending me.” 

Simon had been a constant source of curiosity for my aunt in the last few years. We’d always known he’d be a powerful mage, but the older he got the more we realized that it was more complicated than that. From what I’d been able to overhear from our tutors and Fiona, the true limits of his capabilities wouldn’t be accurately measured for years, if ever. Even if he found a way to master control over it. 

I'm not stupid, and I’ll deny it to my death, but neither is Simon. We'd both been raised (more or less) by the Pitches. We knew about the ludicrous ideals of the Mage and where my family stood. Simon and I have even acknowledged, if not in so many words, that Fi becoming his guardian was kind of a brilliant  _ political  _ move, not just a humanitarian one. 

But in my aunt’s eyes, right at that moment, I could see it. I could see her putting together the fact that Simon might be more than a political ally… He might be a weapon. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno man. I just do the things.
> 
> https://belalugosiisdead.tumblr.com/


	4. Because Of Course It Was

**Simon**

Dark magic. Because of course it was. 

After I’d gone off, it seemed like all Fiona wanted to do was research. She'd prod at me and ask me questions. Sometimes I thought she might be attempting to set me off again… Which I argued would be dangerous. Some of the trees in the forest at home had bent to the point of  _ splintering _ . 

It was almost the middle of summer when they stumbled upon it. Well, not  _ it  _ it, but the most reasonable guess they had for what my power was. Why it was.

When Daphne had come to tell me I was being summoned to Malcoms’s study, Baz and I had been in the music room, going through a list of spells that we thought I might be able to trick my magic into making work. I was saying the words and Baz would play a few notes behind them on his violin. He thought maybe if I could just associate the spells with a tune it wouldn't matter if they were sung or not. (He's too brilliant. It might work.)

Baz looked suspiciously at his stepmum when she relayed my orders. I gave him a silent look that said I'd fill him in completely later. He gave one short nod. 

I shut the door behind me as I entered the study and had to hold back a smirk at the sight of Fiona behind Malcolm’s desk and him standing off to the side. 

“Sit, Snow,” she said, tilting her head to indicate a chair. I obeyed. There was a silent moment. Malcolm twitched and Fiona looked like she was trying to find words. Finally she gave up and heaved a sigh. I was glad. There was something unnerving about the idea that Fiona might sugarcoat something.

“Right. I'll just tell you, then. Since I found you, we've been wondering why in magic’s name a mage would give up a child.”  _ Definitely no sugarcoat. _ “Especially the Mage. It'll be an enormous political nightmare for him when people find out.” 

And they would. We had decided not to keep my parentage a secret. Fiona had convinced the Families that keeping secrets would only cast a negative light on her decision to take me in when the negative should be focused on my father's trespasses. I couldn't say I disagreed. She'd done nothing wrong and had been nothing but honest with me about her intentions. Not to mention I was slightly bitter about being abandoned.

“Right,” I nodded. I knew this much. I waited for her to continue.

“But I think I have an idea why. When we were all at Watford, you couldn't walk across the lawn without hearing David waxing on about what needed to change in the World. We ran in different circles, but even I knew about his ramblings. He scoffed at the idea of waiting for the prophesied Chosen One. Real radical, that one.” She took a deep breath and then shook her head to clear it.

“Malcolm here was going through some older Pitch archives and found a volume on dark rituals. Not how to perform them or anything, just a history of them and a few records of things that were attempted.”

I knew that the how-tos existed. None of the Pitches practiced dark magic anymore but their ancestors had and I don't think it's within the ability of any Pitch (or Grimm for that matter) to destroy knowledge. 

She was plowing on. “And one of the rituals referenced was imbuing an unborn child with power. I don't think it was meant to be used for the amount of power you seem to have, boyo, but it's something isn't it?” She held my eyes. I couldn't breathe. “Him taking an already dark ritual like this and bastardising it… Trying to force a Chosen One into being. That's exactly the sort of thing that might kill the mother of the child, one would think. And it's exactly the sort of thing that might make him hide his little failed experiment.” 

My breath came back with a hitch.  _ Failed experiment. _

Her eyes softened. No one who didn't know Fi would know that, though. Her softness looked like a less jagged glare. But she meant it. Fi cared for me… Maybe even loved me in her way. Probably.

“I don't mean that in the way it sounds, Simon.” Ah. My name. She  _ was _ feeling soft. “If that's the case, he's the bleeding failure, isn't he? Turning Lucy and his unborn child into beakers and test tubes… It's a bit sickening. And leaving a magechild...leaving  _ you  _ to fend for yourself with Normals is an infuriating, disgusting failure.”

Malcolm coughed and looked uncomfortable, but he nodded. This was as close to emotion as he got, really. 

“Thanks, Fi. Mr. Grimm.” I nodded my head, but made no move to stand. There was something nagging at the corner of my mind.

“If my magic was made from dark magic, am I…” I hesitated. Malcolm gritted his teeth. “Am I safe? To be around, I mean. If I hurt you or Baz or someone at school, I might not ever forgive myself.”

Fiona opened her mouth, but Malcolm beat her to it with a scoff and an, “Unlikely.”

Fi and I both turned to look at him sharply. He had never been anything but civil with me, but that was the end of it. Was he actually going to be encouraging?

He looked down his sharp nose at me. “The only time you've ever been dangerous was in defense of Basil.” He said the words like I was an idiot for being concerned. “The things my nephew said that night could have gotten my son killed if the wrong person had heard… And you defended him. You're not going to hurt your family and I don't think you'll hurt your classmates, either.”

“Right,” Fiona agreed. “I'm more worried about what you might do when someone bad-mouths us in your presence. And Simon,” Fiona stood and moved around the desk, sitting on the surface of it and placing a hand on my knee. “Simon, that's going to happen. The Mage is the Headmaster now, and he's surely filled the classrooms with reformist instructors.”

I sucked in a breath. She was right. Maybe I shouldn't go to school with Baz. I was going to hear something offensive about my adoptive family from the mouth of my biological one and unleash that awful power again. I was going to hurt innocent people.

“Do I have to stay here then? With the tutors? I might be dangerous at Watford.”

“Tosh!” The hand Fiona had on my knee raised up and flapped in my face dismissively. “We're going to find something for you to channel that excess into, all right? Or maybe some meditation or something. You’re going to Watford. It's a top-notch education, and frankly, you're going to need it.”

I frowned. 

“Don't look at me that way, boyo. I can't help it. You're  _ his _ son and  _ my _ ward, which means that whether you  _ want  _ to be involved or not, you are. So we best make sure you're as prepared as you can be. For whatever the future holds.”

She was right. She usually was. I sometimes hated it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno man. I just do the things.
> 
> https://belalugosiisdead.tumblr.com/


	5. The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing and posting on my phone. Shit probably looks weird. I dunno.

**Baz**

The last few weeks of our last summer before Watford had been spent with Simon and two _new_ tutors going over meditation and concentration techniques. I played like I was annoyed, but I was secretly hopeful that the lessons would only improve my concentration skills. I was planning on finishing first in my class, like my mother (if the Mage didn't toss out all of the actual curriculum in favor of _sharing circle_ or something equally banal) (and if I made it through the final stages of Turning without being discovered and killed/expelled). 

The lessons had actually begun to help Simon, I thought. He seemed calmer, more steady. He even stopped hesitating so much before he spoke, which made me realize that his (rather humorous) blustering was just as much a nervous reaction as a habit (I made a note to stop teasing him about it) (he hates to be told to use his words - says he would if he could.) 

The efficacy of our lessons was put into question again, however when they began testing him. Every so often, and always when they were off in the clearing of the woods without me, our instructors would poke and prod at Simon's weaknesses, trying to make him mad. Trying to see if he could calm down before going off and how long it would take.

He passed the first test. He failed the second. 

My heart clenched when I heard the concussive sound of his power. I didn't need to see the flash, I just _knew_. My sheet music went tumbling and my violin was left perched on a cushion as I ran out of the room and down the steps, two or three at a time. By the time I got outside and started down the path (followed closely by Fiona), one of our tutors was guiding a cart (magicked, from the way it glided so easily over the rocky trail) in which the other adult sat, cradling an unconscious Simon. He was bleeding this time, a shallow cut decorated the skin just below his hairline on his right side. I could smell the blood, and my stomach roiled at the knowledge that in the near future, the smell would make me ravenous. 

It didn't take Simon long to recover this time, but the teacher who'd been sitting in the cart with Simon suffered a broken rib. The blast had thrown them all to the ground, apparently. He argued that it might have killed them if he wasn't actively _trying_ not to hurt anyone and channeling as much of it away as he could. He wanted to stop the lessons (and halt plans for school, the numpty) but Fiona would have none of it. It didn't escape our attention that the pair of tutors never went to test Simon at the same time again. One of them always stayed back a fair distance, in case of an emergency.

They kept testing him like that for a week. He usually passed, but, when he failed, he failed spectacularly. Watching him come home bruised and broken was getting harder and harder each time. 

One day, I'd had enough. After they led a sullen-looking Simon away, I followed. I locked my bedroom door under the pretense of a headache and a nap, and made my way to the woods. I would go only as deep as the backup tutor went (safety first) (I'm flammable) and cover myself in the few evasion spells I knew so I wouldn't be seen or heard whilst eavesdropping. It wasn't much, but they weren't expecting me to show up (who walks up to an armed bomb?) so it would probably be enough.

They'd already started in on him when I found a place to hide and listen. I had to clench my hands at my sides not to react, they were _merciless._

“Pathetic aren't you, Snow?” It was the older of the two speaking - a woman with pretty auburn hair and not much else going for her. Her mouth was drawn into a sneer and her eyes reflected mirth, like she was _enjoying_ this part. I hated her.

“Can't even cast a basic blocking spell,” she continued.

Blocking? Were they _attacking_ him? _Physically?!_ I looked my best friend over- sure enough there was mud on his knees and a scuff of a scrape on his elbow. Not much blood, thank magic, but there was a look on his face of frustration and anxiety. 

Did I mention I hated her?

“How are we meant to teach you anything?” our instructor called out. She'd walked away a little, putting meters of distance between them. “You're useless.”

She walked away a little more; she kept moving like she expected her next blows to hit. 

“It's no wonder the Mage threw you away, boy…” The anger and hurt that crossed Simon's face at that tore at my own chest. _How dare she?_

I didn't realize I was up and moving before she finished.

“...maybe the Pitches should just throw you back.”

I had almost reached Simon with a cry of “That's enough!” before I remembered why stepping in was such a monumentally bad idea. 

Simon turned toward me upon hearing my words. His face was pure shock followed by a wave of regret. He shouted “No, Baz, get back!” but there were already sparks at his fingertips. The air felt like it was all being sucked toward him. _Not the air_ , I realized, _magic._ That constant cloud of energy that surrounded him was being gathered toward him, like clouds gathering and swirling before a big storm. For a moment everything was still.

I looked down to see that I'd reached him, my hands on his shoulders. He was crying and I felt like I might, too. He was going to go off. I was probably going to die.

I hoped my family would believe that I ran at him, stupidly. That this was my fault. They couldn't blame him for this if I'd made the dumb decision on my own, right?

In that still moment, before the world was set to explode, I just smiled and said it was okay. Maybe the last thing I do on this earth would be to forgive Simon for something that wasn't his fault. I was an _idiot_.

I closed my eyes as Simon whispered, “Moron,” under his breath and braced for the impact and the fire.

It never came. 

The skin of my palms where they connected to his shoulders warmed uncomfortably, and I felt a rush of warm, light energy fly into my body from his. It touched all my nerve endings and filled my lungs with a sugar-sweet smoke. Like s'mores. My head felt lighter, but I was absolutely grounded. This was Simon's _magic_. He was pushing it into me, instead of forcing it out destructively. And what's more, I could take it! Most mages never found a person who was compatible for combining the magic needed for even minor spells. Simon channeling this much into me was unheard of… The kind of thing that was the subject of bedtime stories. 

Simon gasped in delight and we both choked down an hysterical giggle. His hands raised to grip my biceps and the immense relief we both felt grew, even as the skin under the his hands heated up. I concentrated on the feeling and noticed my own fire rise up and mingle with Simon's electrical storm. My magic pushed at his and guided it to settle until we both felt safe and in-control. The power lingered, though, instead of dissipating.

“Can you cast something?” Simon asked. “That's what I do after I get a hold of myself when I'm like this. I cast April Showers. Gives the storm somewhere to go. But I make it like a thunder crash if I can. I hate getting wet.” He laughed shyly. 

That was perfect. I moved one hand to grab my wand from my sleeve and we were knocked just a little unsteady by the movement. I pointed my wand to the other side of the clear patch, noticing for the first time in a while that we weren't alone. The woman was joined by her partner, staring slack-jawed at us. I glared back, haughtily. 

“ **April showers bring May flowers!** ” I cast the spell focusing on Simon's change... On Simon's intention. There were only a few drops of rain, then a tremendous crash of thunder over our heads. 

I felt the magic slowly ebb, most of it streaming through my wand and some of it warming the air around us. Simon and I grinned at each other like loons when a patch of giant sunflowers popped up where I'd been pointing. 

We released each other and took deep breaths. I could still feel some of his magic floating around in me, and I wasn't tired at all like I usually would be. I'd never even cast a weather spell before! It was something that most people wouldn't do until fourth or fifth year, and probably even longer off for spells with results like this.

 _Crowley_.

Simon was staring at me with something like pride and it made me feel like blushing. I shook my head and steadied my breathing, looking around the clearing. 

Only then did I notice the flowers. _Everywhere_. Peonies and roses and lilac. 

A glance back at my friend showed me he actually _was_ blushing. 

“You can do this, Simon,” I told him. “Look around you! You really can. And I'll help you.”

He pulled me into an embrace that I only slightly awkwardly accepted. I still wasn't very good with physical affection, but Simon never cared. He's so tactile. I learned to welcome his hugs.

It was like that, with arms slung around each other's shoulders, that we made our way back to my parents and Fiona. 

I didn't spare the tutors a single glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno man. I just do the things.
> 
> https://belalugosiisdead.tumblr.com/


	6. Prepare

**Baz**

“You're going to have to help him, Baz,” Fiona was saying as she sat on my bed, watching me double check my trunk. I'd gone over my checklist over and over, but still felt like I was _missing_ something.

I bit my lip and answered her absently, “I will. As much as I can, at least.”

She huffed, “I'm not asking you to bloody babysit him, Baz. Just stay close in case he needs you. You're the only person that can keep him from going nuclear.”

“No, I know what you meant,” I said, turning to face her. “I'm not objecting or saying I won't be _able_.” Of course I'd be able. We’d tested my ability to share magic with Simon (on a smaller scale) and it worked flawlessly. I was feeling a little full of myself even. 

While I was not lacking in the raw power department, I would never be as full or alive as Simon. I'd never be able to stand in the spotlight and be _seen._ I could grow up to be the most talented (untampered with) mage of my generation, but I could never really stand center stage. Even my modest dreams of being Watford’s Headmaster one day seemed out of reach.

Simon though... It was possible that my best friend was the most powerful mage in the world, and he needed me. I was uniquely suited to guide and help him. No one else could, probably no one on the planet. I might not ever be able to stand in the spotlight, but Simon was the _sun._ Real and blinding and powerful. He was the sun and I was so close I could stand in the shade and still feel his warmth. 

I was a dark creature. A vampire who would have to hide half himself for his entire life. But instead of being sad now, or feeling isolated going into school, I had a purpose. Simon and I would be a team.

Fiona lifted a brow and I mirrored her. “I only meant that I would help him if I was near enough to do so. We just have to hope that whoever his roommate is will not be sympathetic to the Mage. Hope it's someone who will come get me when I'm needed.” My stomach turned at the thought of Simon rooming with someone who might report his oddities to the Mage. The last thing he needed was his ridiculous, horror of a father finding out that he was such a powerhouse. He was likely to start looking at Simon like a petri dish again, or worse, a nuclear power generator.

My aunt was smirking at me. “I wouldn't worry about that.”

“Oh?” I murmured as I realized what I'd forgotten. A music stand! I grabbed the carry-bag from my closet and began to fold my spare stand up for transport. 

“Oh,” she replied. “Crucible knows what it's doing. You two are exactly compatible to exist in the same space. Dollars to donuts, you'll be roomed together.”

My heart beat faster. Crowley, I hoped so. “You think?”

“Yeah. And if I'm wrong about it, your Father and I will sort it out.”

I had no doubt of that. If anyone could circumvent ancient magical artifacts and rules, the Pitches and Grimms could.

All I said was, “Hm.”

\----

By the time I finished my packing, Fiona had grown bored and wandered off. Probably to scare a housekeeper. I decided to go check on Simon. 

I popped my head into his room without knocking and watched him for a moment. He was sat on the end of his bed, glaring at his trunk, half open and rumpled. 

I coughed to make myself known. “You know, if spells aren't working, you have to actually fold the clothes. Glaring won't do anything.”

He looked up at me and frowned. “Putting it off.”

His bed dipped as I sat next to him, regarding his face. Something was up. Something more than packing. 

“Why are you putting it off?” Direct was best with Simon. I could wait for him to spill, but he’d just hold onto it until it cracked his brain.

He shrugged (as he so often did). 

“Talk to me, Simon.”

He shrugged again but paired the gesture with a word. “Nervous.”

Ah. Of course. We'd had this conversation (and argument). “You can handle this, Simon.”

Another shrug. “Yeah.”

“You _can_ , you numpty. You've gotten so good at calming down. And I'll be there to help you. I can help you now.”

Silence.

“Fiona says that the Crucible will place us together.”

That got a reaction. “Really? How does she know that?”

“Because our magic is compatible and that rarely happens. The Crucible will know.”

Simon nodded at me, looking slightly relieved. I picked up a jumper and began to fold, the _Normal_ way.

“And she vaguely threatened to bring tradition down around her if we weren't cast together,” I said coolly, knowing that would amuse him.

“She would,” he laughed as he knelt next to the trunk and took out a pair of trousers to fold, a smile finally on his face.

Together. We could do this together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno man. I just do the things.
> 
> https://belalugosiisdead.tumblr.com/


	7. Strange Battle Cry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one, my dudes.
> 
> I like this chapter, but I like the next one more.

**Baz**

Fiona drove us to school. Father saw me through the front door, but declined to take us himself. For the last six years, he had only stepped foot on Watford grounds if he absolutely had to - he said the place was absolutely full of my mother. 

That was one of the reasons I was so excited, though. I was excited to learn and hone my magic, of course, but I was more excited to breathe in my mother's legacy. To walk where she walked and recognize the setting of the photos I'd spent half a decade memorizing and mourning. I was convinced I would be better able to hear her voice and see her face in my memories.

Absently, I reached my hand out and settled the incessant bouncing of Simon’s knee. It was rattling the car and jarring my thoughts. Anyone who looked at him would probably see a boy who was nervous to go away to boarding school for the first time; no one would guess that he was imagining something far worse than homesickness and lumpy mattresses.

I was going to be so close to my mother, but Simon was being forced to be so close to his father. He was a wreck of nerves.

None of us were absolutely certain if the Mage knew Simon had been living with us. One would think that, if he'd been keeping tabs on his son, he would have shown up at our house or done something to legally bar Fiona’s adoption of Simon from being finalized, but it never happened. 

Fiona had been very adamant that his existence and parentage couldn't be a secret, since there was no way to hide his lineage if anyone _really_ wanted to find it. Simon was six years old at the time. He understood the very basics, and wasn't left out of any of the major decision making (because, otherwise, how could he trust us?). 

When Fiona decided to legally and permanently adopt Simon, she asked him if that would be alright. When he agreed, she scheduled a meeting with Lady Salisbury. 

Lady Salisbury was a formidable woman, to be sure. She told off-color jokes and liked her drinks poured strong. Fiona says that when she explained how she found Simon, Lady Salisbury wept. My aunt asked for the Salisburys' blessings to go forward with the adoption, and they'd given it, joyfully, on the condition they could meet Simon when he was ready. 

I suppose it made sense; Lady Ruth was far too old to raise a seven year old boy and her son had no magic to speak of; raising a powerful mage wasn't a fit task for him. Still, they made him a Salisbury heir and graciously offered him the surname.

Fiona never forced any name on Simon. He could have legally been a Pitch, of course, after his adoption, but he never showed any interest in it. Likewise, he never officially took the Salisbury name. One night, when we were about nine, Simon told me it was because sharing a name with his mother might inspire the Mage to find him sooner rather than later. 

And then there we were, sitting in the backseat of my aunt's car, barreling straight towards his father. He must have felt like he was going into the lion's den. The car smelled like smoke and petrichor.

I caught his eyes and his attention. His blue eyes searched mine for relief and I hoped he found some. “You can do this. You don't have to worry. I'll be with you every step of the way.” 

He pulled my hand off his knee and held it. The heaviness in the air pulled back a little.

“I know, Baz. I'm really ready. I'm also just really nervous.” He meant about having to speak with the Mage. There was no way to avoid it, of course. Even if somehow the Mage was ignorant of Simon’s living situation, he was Headmaster and as soon as Simon’s name appeared on the list of enrolled students, he’d know.

“You’ll know the words to use when you need them, just like with magic,” I smiled and bumped his knee with mine. “You can even sing at him, if you’d like.” 

He huffed a laugh and bumped my knee back.

“Imagine that,” he said, running his free hand through his soft, citrus-scented curls. “Think I can somehow turn **_I don’t fuck with you_ ** into a spell?”

Fiona cleared her throat from the front seat and murmured, “Language, lads,” under her breath. Neither of us missed the smirk that she flashed us in the rearview, either. The fact that she was _trying_ to seem like a proper guardian was comical.

Simon bit his lip and closed his eyes for just a second, like he was schooling his thoughts and actions into cooperation. He was getting scarily good at that, and my stomach flipped at the thought that someday I might not get a chance to read his face before he pulls himself together. He nodded resolutely and squeezed my hand once before dropping it. “Thanks, Baz.”

Fiona met my eyes in the rearview and raised a brow. It felt like she knew something I didn’t and was challenging me to figure it out - an expression that both fueled and frustrated me when she tried to help me with my lessons.

What was I meant to see?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno man. I just do the things.
> 
> https://belalugosiisdead.tumblr.com/


	8. Not exactly the devil, ok?

## Simon

It was a shock of relief when the Crucible actually did place Baz and I together. It made me wonder if Fi had been right about us being compatible or if she'd threatened something somewhere. I supposed it didn't matter, anyway.

Moving in felt just like going home, of course. Like the sleep overs we’d have in Baz’s or my room when the nightmares got to be too much. There was no way it could be as bad as I'd feared, not with my best friend so close. 

We put our clothes away neatly (I was able to use magic, this time) and hung our posters. Bowie and Bauhaus were prominently featured on the door to the bathroom (we had our _own_ ) (pretty sure Fiona might have been behind that, honestly. Baz needed privacy more than most boys our age). We stuffed our bedside tables with snacks and Baz set up his music stand. 

“Are you sure you don’t mind if I practice here, sometimes?” Baz was always so polite. He didn’t need to be. 

“Don’t be dumb, Baz,” I shrugged at him. “I like to hear you play. And the music rooms are so bleeding _far_.”

He cocked a brow at me. 

I returned his favorite gesture with my own and continued, “If it rained, you might melt.”

Pitch rhymes with witch, okay? And I was not that fast on my feet.

Baz tossed his pillow at my head, but there was no fire in his eyes, just fondness. “Numpty.”

Easy as that, my nerves faded to the background and I let myself enjoy this for what it was - an adventure. One I was lucky enough to go on with my favourite person on the whole planet. By the time we turned out the lights and crawled into our new (to us) beds, my anxiety was all but forgotten.

It didn’t last (does it ever?).

As it so happened, I made it all the way until dinner on our second night until the reason for my nervousness inserted itself right into my path, literally blocking Baz and I from walking into the building. 

He looked at me as though he thought I might run away. (I considered it, of course, but he never had to know that. I had my dignity.)

“Simon,” he started softly, hesitantly. That made us both sneer a little. Who was he to be soft with _me_? “I want to introduce myself, Simon. I'm -”

I cut him off. “I know who you are,” I told him, laying on a carefully-schooled bored affectation. 

“You do?”

“Of course. You're the Mage, sir. And Headmaster.” I took a calming breath and leveled him with a glare I'd learned from Malcolm and Fi. “I believe you also happen to be my biological father.”

You could see that the word “biological” threw him. I was pleased. 

“Y-yes. I am.” He stole a look at Baz. “Do you think we could speak alone, son?”

“I'm not your son,” I told him truthfully. “And we don't have to bother with speaking alone. I’d tell Baz anything you say, regardless. He's family.”

The Mage scowled. “I can't begin to think of what you've heard about me.” 

Baz scoffed and raised a brow, but he was letting me handle this. 

“No, you probably can't begin to. It's surprisingly little, though. Politics is not polite dinner conversation for children. But we are taught that current events are of the utmost importance. I've read much about your career, sir.” I stopped to look at his face, look for a reaction. “Recently we were given your letters regarding tax reform to review. I can't say I'm behind them, realistically. Your ideas on reforming Watford's admission policies are interesting, though. I'm afraid I just don't understand why opening up enrollment makes the stripping of our traditions and practices necessary. All mages with potential should be taught, yes, but if you’re so moved to that cause, there are other avenues in which to pursue your goal. And, I mean no offence, but surely not all mages _have_ potential.”

I was on roll, but he wasn't letting me go.

He cleared his throat and I could see that what I was saying was affecting him, I just wasn’t sure _how_ , exactly. “I was talking about what you've heard of me, on a personal level, son. I mean… Simon.”

“What I've heard on a _personal_ level, sir?” 

He nodded.

“Sir, I'm not at all sure this is an appropriate discussion.” I looked over at Baz. My words were doing _just_ fine tonight. Maybe I had more to say than I realized.

“Yes. I can't imagine your caregivers had anything positive to say about your parentage, he sneered over at Baz when he said this. That git (my favourite git) just smirked and crossed his arms. 

“Oh no, sir. My _family_ has their opinions, surely, but so do I. And my opinions are less than charitable, on a _personal_ level. When I’ve expressed this, my family largely agrees with my assment, though.”

“Pardon?” 

Another huff of a laugh from Baz. A smile from me.

“They agree with me. My family also doesn't understand why I was given up. They don't understand how any mage could have left me to be raised by Normals.” I could feel myself getting angry, righteously angry. I hadn’t realised that it had been building from the moment he inserted himself into my path.

“Just like me, they hate that I was raised in the care system. I didn't learn to speak until I was three and I wasn’t comfortable speaking to anyone at all until after I was five. I didn't learn to read until Fiona Pitch taught me. Apparently, it’s hard to teach a boy who won’t respond to the instructors.

“Fiona Pitch pulled me out of that shell. She gave me a home, a family, and a future. She has never lied to me, refused to answer my questions, or hid me away like some… _embarrassment_.” The Mage visibly stepped back a half pace. Good.

I felt Baz’s hand on my arm. He was taking the edge off. The cool of his hands was ever-so-slightly pulling the heat from my body. I sighed lightly at the measure of relief and glanced over to see his resolute face turned up at the Mage. He was here with me. I could do this.

The Mage was taken aback. I didn't pause for him, though.

“If not for them, the Pitches and Grimms, I would have been abandoned to a life where I would never have learned to Speak. I would never have known what I was feeling when the magic sprung up from my insides and tilted my world sideways.”

He started again, “I didn’t know…”

I didn’t care.

“What you did was cruel and awful, and I want nothing from you, sir. And this has nothing to do with my family’s opinions of you. It has nothing to do with your skewed politics or vendetta against tradition. It has nothing to do with your unfair tax reforms or war against the Old Families…” I paused to take a breath.

“On a very, _very_ personal level, sir, I want absolutely nothing to do with you beyond your required role as Headmaster of the school that I attend.”

He sputtered. “Simon, I would have come. I wouldn't have left you there if I had known.”

“You knew where I was. You could have found me. Fiona did,” I shook my head. “I’m glad you didn’t come for me. You left me there at all, and that's enough.” The anger was overflowing again. I was sure I would think of more to say, but I just couldn't then. I hoped I would never be in a position to speak with him like this again.

I shouldered my bag and jerked my chin at Baz. “We're late for dinner,” I said as I pushed past him, my best friend by my side. “And you're late to everything else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno man. I just do the things.
> 
> https://belalugosiisdead.tumblr.com/


	9. Segue. Not the kind you ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I'm working from home, but they have the audacity to expect me to WORK?!
> 
> pffft

##  Baz

The first part of our first term at Watford largely passed without a hitch. While that seems like a fairly normal statement, we were expecting a plethora of hitches. The main contenders for trouble being Simon’s unstable magic and the presence of his biological father.

For the most part, it seemed like the Mage was planning on adhering to Simon’s boundaries. He wasn’t instructing any of our first year classes, anyway. Honestly, he didn’t seem to spend much time on campus at all. He was always swanning off here or there to assemble his Merry Men and go play Robin Hood of Mages or something. (We made the Robin Hood comparison whilst having lunch with Aunt Fiona one weekend, and when we got back to the dorms later that day (after kicking around a football on the Watford pitch... Brilliant.), we found a package on the floor by the door… the floor  _ inside _ of the door. Inside was one of those portable DVD players and a copy of “ _ Robin Hood: Men in Tights _ .” We spent the whole of Sunday watching and rewatching the film and stuffing ourselves silly on minty chocolates and vinegar-y crisps.)

Simon was more worried about the prospect of “going off” at school than he had been for his initial encounter with the Mage. He may not have been a Pitch or a Grimm by blood or marriage, but he was as loyal as any Pitch had ever been, maybe moreso. He spent the first few weeks of classes practicing his breathing on the  _ off chance _ that  _ someone _ might make  _ some _ offhanded derogatory remark. It was a complication that hadn’t arisen - if any of the teachers at Watford harbored ill-will toward my family or the fact that we’d gone and scooped up the Mage’s abandoned offspring (our gain, his loss - tosser), they never gave a hint. 

The only other real reason for concern on the horizon was the inevitably of the onset of my bloodlust. As far as we could tell (by we, I of course mean Fiona and her research) that would probably come around the same time as puberty. Simon, Dev, and I all had to sit through “the talk” before we left for school. When we were all (and I mean  _ all _ \- adults, too) thoroughly red and done with the conversation, Daphne led Simon and my cousin out for biscuits and tea while Father and Fiona presented me with research and as to why I was going to differ from my peers, even in this supposedly universal, coming-of-age experience. I guessed I just didn’t belong in the same universe, did I?

My impending dietary restrictions were likely a long way off, though. Not worth worrying about, really. I couldn’t change anything - I’d just have to be prepared.

In fact, we made it to the first week of November and it seemed that all of our major concerns weren’t going to be concerns at all. On top of that, classes were going all right. Simon and I had both been studying the basics since we were small, thanks to Father and Fiona’s instance on private tutors as soon as I could independently communicate (Simon started the week he moved in down the hall from me). We were both ahead in every subject, except for the case of Simon and Magic Words, but he’d get there. We’d see to it. We were a team.

That was a good thing, too - the fact that we were a team. If the dragon had found just me, on my own, I don’t think I would have survived. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno man. I just do the things.
> 
> https://belalugosiisdead.tumblr.com/


	10. Rideable, I suppose.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But not a segue, in the traditional sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have all these ideas and they're entirely non-linear, and I'm working from home, and I have to talk to my doc soon about increasing my ADHD meds because holy shit, y'all.
> 
> Y'all are gonna start to see more and more of my stupid little assumptions and head-cannons peaking through. Come yell at me about it. Might be fun.
> 
> I'm honestly considering creating a tumblr for this stuff 'cause I stumbled onto a few and now I'm obsessed. Fuck me. Running. It's just what I needed.
> 
> Thanks for your patience with this behemoth.

##  Simon

“Merlin  _ alive _ , I cannot believe we just did that!” Baz whooped and clapped my shoulder in a giddy fit. We were walking back to our dorm after giving our report to the coven about the incident with the dragon, and I didn’t think I’d ever seen Baz so deliriously happy. Perhaps he was just  _ delirious _ . Nothing that happened that afternoon was something I would want to repeat. 

Well, that might be a lie. Seeing the dragon flying high over the forest was properly  _ cool _ , wasn’t it? It was just less cool when it swooped nearer and nearer, and landed right in front of us. That’s when the astonished grin on Baz’s face faded and he grabbed my hand, urging me to to back up, slowly.

“They don’t come this close to people, Si,” he said, pitching his voice very low and not looking at me. “And look at its eyes? Something is wrong.” 

I hadn’t made eye contact with the thing, yet. I was busy admiring the way the low-set sun glinted off of scales that were so dark a red, they almost seemed black. The dragon’s eyes, though, I could see were fully black - blank even. Baz was right - I’d never seen an illustration of a dragon with eyes like that. 

The thing snorted and moved closer. I felt the spark of my magic travel up my spine and dance on my fingertips like electricity. I didn’t want to go off, though; I didn’t want to  _ hurt _ the thing if I didn’t have to - especially if Baz was right and something was wrong with it. If it was sick, this probably wasn’t its fault. 

“Baz? I don’t want…,” I started.

“Yes, I know. I don’t, either,” he responded, still not looking at me. He pulled his wand from his sleeve slowly, stealthily. I didn’t bother; there was no way I could cast anything even moderately helpful. I bit my lip as Baz raised his wand and opened his mouth to cast. 

He didn’t get a chance to do anything, though. Before he uttered a syllable, I saw the dragon arch its neck back like a snake ready to strike. 

_ Strike,  _ I thought in a panic. The dragon was going to strike out. With  _ fire _ . At my very flammable best friend. I didn’t have time to think of what I could do, I only had time to  _ do something _ . I snatched Baz’s left hand with my right and jerked him sideways, into me. Together we fell to the ground, and I forced us into a tumble - rolling myself right on top of him. The heat of the dragon’s flame licked at the back of my calves through my trousers and I winced, glancing down into Baz’s face. His eyes were scared and wide, both eyebrows threatened to meld with his hairline and his lips parted. Afraid wasn’t an emotion I often saw on my best friend’s face.

It was gone as soon as it came. He set his features and nodded at me resolutely before gently pushing me aside. He didn’t give himself or the beast even a moment to recover from its first attack before he was casting. 

“ **Ladybird, ladybird! Fly away home!** ” 

His magic left him in a rush of heat and I could see the dragon take the hit. We waited a breath, all three of us, but nothing happened. 

Baz tried again. I stood up and stood still next to him.

“ **Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home! Your house is on fire and your children are gone.** ”

It was a good spell to use. I’d seen him chase spiders out of the house for Daphne a few times with it. (Fiona and I had summoned them. Don’t ask.) Again, I saw the dragon feel the spell hit, but it wasn’t compelled to leave. 

Of course it wasn’t. Dragons weren’t house pests like spiders, and they had their own magic, too. Baz was going to need something more powerful to make it work. 

Or someone. 

I was terrible at most spells, on my own, but I’d been practicing sharing my magic with Baz. We’d mastered the art of Baz taking little bits of my excess energy when I was feeling too  _ much _ , and he’d been successful in helping me rein in the flood of power that came from me when I went off. I’d even been able to purposefully work my magic up a bit and push it into Baz to have him weave it into one of his spells. I was going to need to work up a lot more than a  _ bit _ of my magic if I had any hope to make this work, of course, but all I had to do was remember that Baz had almost been incinerated - remember the fear in his eyes. 

“Try again,” I said to him, pulling up the image of him in the path of those flames in my mind and letting my magic build as a result. It crackled and jumped and singed my skin. I looked over at Baz and snatched his hand, holding it tight in both of mine. He looked down at them and then back up at me, and then again to face our enemy (was it an enemy?). He nodded at me and then raised his wand. When he spoke again, I could feel the power leaving me and going through him. I could smell my magic in the air and feel the heat of his. 

“ **Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home! Your house is on fire and your children shall burn.** ” When that line hit the dragon, it stumbled back. I squeezed Baz’s hand and willed more into him; I tried to imagine dams breaking and rivers overrunning.  _ That’s it _ , I thought.  _ As much as he needs. Give him everything he needs. _

“ **All except one, and her name in Nan, and she hid under the porridge pan.** ”

We stepped forward as a unit, the dragon retreated more. 

Yards behind us, I began to hear commotion coming from the drawbridge. I hadn’t even noticed it go dark outside, nor had I noticed the bridge go up or the people crowding on the other side to see the dragon. Of course people had seen the thing swooping and wandered nearer to get a better look; I probably would have, too. 

They were looking at  _ us _ and the dragon, which was only a problem if someone noticed the whole magic-sharing thing. They probably couldn’t, right? We were a ways off. It was too late for a  **Nothing to see here** (and I didn’t know an equivalent song-version, anyway).

I squeezed Baz’s hand and urged him to go on, my panic at seeing the crowd sending more magic surging through our joined hands. 

He cleared his throat and we focused. “ **Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home! Your house is on fire and your children shall burn. All but one, and that’s little John, and he lies under the grindle stone.** ” 

I didn’t even know this rhyme had so many verses. How many more would we need?

“ **Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home! Your house is on fire and your children shall burn. All except one, and her name is Aileen, and she hid under a soup tureen.** ” Another deep breath. 

“Simon! Mr. Pitch!” my back straightened as I recognized the voice calling. The Mage had arrived. He was lowering the drawbridge and calling out. We were absolutely going to be caught.

Baz heard it, too, and squeezed my hand so hard that I was suddenly reminded that he was a vampire, and still in the process of Turning. 

“ **Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home! Your house is on fire and your children shall** **_burn_ ** **!** ” I could tell he wanted to scream it; I could feel his desperation and it echoed in me, too. But we couldn’t risk being any louder, with the Mage so close. Instead, we pushed with that last word. I could feel Baz sagging beside me, even with the current I was generating passing right through him. I held on tighter and he stood taller.

The dragon raised its head and made a grunting noise before lowering it to the ground and  _ shrieking _ . It was so loud that it forced us to unlink our sweaty hands and grab our ears. Baz fell to his knees (his hearing is very, very sensitive). The dragon was still squalling as it beat its enormous wings and kicked off of the ground and flew off.

Immediately, I dropped next to Baz, checking him over. He opened his eyes and winked at me quickly before closing them and going back to grimacing and laying limp. What the fuck?

Before I could question him out loud, there was a touch on my shoulder - the Mage. More people were approaching quickly now that the dragon had gone, but my father’s eyes darted quickly from Baz to me and back again, like he was putting something together. Nothing I could do at the moment, though, so I turned back to Baz. He was slightly propped up on his elbow, accepting a water bottle from the nurse and making a show of grimacing. 

The nurse cleared her throat and gazed up at the Mage, who seemed to be jarred out of this thoughts at the gesture. 

“Right. Yes. Is Mr. Pitch injured?” He didn’t care. Anyone who could hear his voice could tell. It was just what he was supposed to ask. 

Baz answered instead for the nurse. “No. Simon pushed me out of the way of the blast. I’m just drained, I expect. I tried to use magic to make the dragon leave us alone.” Baz reached up and grabbed my shoulder to brace himself and I followed his lead, offering my other hand to help lift him to sitting. 

It suddenly clicked in my mind, what he was doing. Of course he wasn’t drained, because he was siphoning from me, but the adults could never know what we could do. They had seen  _ him _ with his wand raised, not me, so it would make sense that he’d be the one totally drained from the experience. The prat was also probably enjoying the attention.

“You used  _ magic _ to shoo away a dragon?” The Mage made it sound like the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard, and that was probably accurate. We were first-year students, even with the advantages of early tutoring and strong innate power, Baz shouldn’t have been able to cast a dragon away.

“I said I  _ tried _ to spell it. I don’t think I did more than annoy it, though,” he replied. 

“What spell did you use?” The Mage had a brow lifted. 

Baz capped the water he’d been drinking from. “I used a few verses of  **Ladybird** . It’s all I could think of at the moment.” 

My father scoffed and Baz stood (making a scene of wobbling and grabbing onto me as I stood with him). He looked the Mage in the eye and raised a dark brow of his own. “Pardon me, sir, is there a spell that first-years are supposed to use in case of dragon attack? Did I miss the part of orientation where it was explained that the protective wards no longer covered the Great Lawn?”

The Mage’s lips went thin as he registered the challenge. He looked away, only muttering a vague sound of acknowledgement. 

It was something to see, Baz standing up to an adult (the bloody Headmaster) (my bloody  _ birth father _ ) like an equal. His eleven year old frame stood ramrod straight, propped up by the weight of his heritage and all the Families. Fi’d be proud. Proud-as-Pitch.

“You’ll have to give a full report in my office, both of you. And the Coven will have questions. It’ll be a long night.” He scrubbed his face with one hand and then turned to me and touched my shoulder again, “Are you alright, Simon?”

I shrugged his hand off of me and set my jaw in what I hoped was a mirror to Baz’s regal look. “I’m fine. Baz needs something to eat and a moment to rest, and then we’ll meet you in your office.”

I turned my back on him completely, looking at the nurse. “Can we get him a sandwich and some juice or something?”


	11. Notations

##  Simon

“Merciful Morgana!” the girl sitting at the next table over huffed. I thought she must be struggling with an assignment and I ignored her in solidarity. I had my Magic Words notes open and I was struggling to make sense of what we’d gone through today. Baz was off in the music rooms practicing something particularly tricky (he makes it all look easy, the git) and I’d gotten bored waiting for him. He’d probably think he’d lost the plot if he saw me sitting in the library by myself, willingly - studying. 

It soon became clear, however, that the girl sitting near me wasn’t struggling with her work, but with  _ mine _ . “Simon!” she said, this time from right behind me. 

“Er… yeah?” I turned around and looked up into bright eyes under a shock of bright hair. 

“I was going to keep my mouth shut, Simon. I really was.” 

“Shut about what, uh…?”

She rolled her eyes at me and rounded the table, sitting across from me. “Penelope,” she introduced herself. “Penny, if you like. We’re in several classes together.”

“Oh, right. Nice to meet you,” I almost offered her my hand, but then it seemed like a stuffy gesture. I found myself wishing I’d had a reason to interact with Mage children besides Baz and his swarm of cousins. Adults had done all of  _ that _ introducing for me. “I’m Si…”

“Simon. Yes, I know. I said your name a moment ago, remember?” She folded her hands in a show of patience that felt more like a desperate plea to get on with the conversation I’d found myself dragged into.

“Right. Sorry. What were you going to keep your mouth shut about?” (And Merlin’s  _ beard _ might you do just that?) (I wasn’t going to say that last bit, even though it came too easy. It would be better to make  _ friends _ after all.) (Or at least not enemies.)

She huffed. “The state of your  _ notes _ , Simon. Really! How do you make sense of this!” She gestured toward the pages, covered in my messy writing. 

Admittedly, my notebooks probably looked horrific to the uninitiated, but they made sense to me. The post it notes sticking out had various words and images that served as memory devices for me. The loose papers tucked into the pages held other notes I made while practicing magic and didn’t have my notebook handy. Some of those loose pages might have actually been napkins from the dining hall (it is what it is).

“My notes are fine, thanks,” I muttered and looked back down. 

“They’re not. They can’t be!” She reached over and plucked a bright green post-it from the page. “These are musical notes. What are your music notes doing in your Magic Words notebook, Simon?” She didn’t give me time to answer. “What instrument do you play?”

I snatched the square of paper back. “I don’t. These help me study.” 

“How?” She asked, looking at me with a raptor’s glare of genuine interest. 

“They just do,” I said, folding the book closed and sliding it into my bag. No way I was going to be able to focus  _ now _ . 

I was stopped by Penny’s hand covering mine as it pulled the flap on my bag closed. 

“Hey,” she said. “You don’t have to go. I didn’t mean anything by it.” She did seem a little softer in the eyes - less like she was studying me and more like she was actually looking at me. “I was just curious. My family is really into academic research and I’ve never seen someone use music notes to study things that aren’t music.”

I nodded, but didn’t unpack my things again. “Okay.”

She nodded. “We’re going to be friends, Simon,” she declared with something like determination. 

“All right…” I said, drawing out the syllables. Was this how friends were usually made? 

She smiled then. “Good. My mum says I could do with some friends my own age. Of course…” she trailed off. 

“Of course, what?” I thought I liked the girl so far, probably, but she was the oddest person I’ve met since Fiona. 

She shook her head, coming out of her train of thought. “Of course, I don’t think I’ll have the energy for more than two or three, tops. If I’m going to be top of our class, I am going to have to pace myself.”

This made me laugh. “Yeah maybe. Though you have some serious competition for top of the class. You may want to stick to no more than two friends, honestly.” 

Her head shot up. “Competition? What have you heard?”

I stood and shouldered my bag. “I’m heading over to lunch. Do you want to come along?” Baz needed to meet her. They were either going to hit it off or murder each other - either would be fun to watch. Penny grabbed her things and started to follow. 

“Seriously, Simon. Who is my competition?” 

I looked back at her and raised a brow. “Baz Grimm-Pitch is going to be first. I’d bet anything.”

She looked concerned, speeding up to catch up with me. “Why do you say that?” 

“He wants it more than he wants anything, Penelope.” I didn’t mention his mum or anything. Those things weren’t mine to tell.

“Hrmph.” She actually snorted. “We’ll see, I suppose.” I chuckled and opened the library door for her. I  _ was _ taught manners. “You spend a lot of time with Pitch, right?” 

Another laugh from me, “You could say that. He’s my best mate. We’ve lived together since we were six.” 

She stopped in her tracks. “Together? As in you live with the Pitches?” Here we went. Finally. It wasn’t really common knowledge among the students. No one had bothered asking why Baz and I were close or anything - they just assumed we were stuck together as roommates and we hit it off. That’s what happened with Dev and his roommate, Niall. It was fairly common. The only students that seemed to know were from Old Families and wouldn’t feel compelled to ask for - or volunteer - information.

I nodded, mostly to myself as a reminder that we  _ knew _ these questions would arise and we’d all decided together that I shouldn’t have to be evasive about it all. “Well, the Grimms and the Pitches. It’s a big house, so we all live there.”

“You and your parents?” She was walking again, slowly. I matched her pace. 

“Me and my guardian, Fiona. It’s technically hers and Baz’s house, since it’s Pitch Manor and all, but…”

“Fiona  _ Pitch _ is your guardian? Nicks and Slick, how did that happen?” She stopped again. Getting to my lunch was going to take forever at this pace. 

“We call her my guardian. I’m legally adopted but Fiona’s not the “mum” type. She’d probably box my ears if I ever called her that.” I made a mental note to try it.

Penny was quiet then, which seemed uncharacteristic for her in the short time I’d known her (less than an hour). “Simon, I had no idea.”

“Why would you?” I asked, a bit gruff. I knew why. “It’s no one’s business who I live with.” 

“No, no, it’s not that. I’ve just never heard of a Mage child being put up for adoption before.” 

I shrugged. “Yeah. I know. It’s kind of an anomaly.” 

She hummed. “You know who your parents are?” She eyed the family crest on my cuff. I could tell she was trying to memorise it so she could look it up to verify my answers later. 

“Yeah. Long story for another day, though.” A long story I did  _ not _ want to get into with someone I just met. On an empty stomach.


	12. Don't Be Suspicious... Don't Be...

**Baz**

Simon’d made a new friend.

He’d bounced up to me, grinning like a moron. “Basilton, this is Penelope,” he said, politely. “Try not to get too attached, though. She’s aiming for top of our class and has decided to limit herself to just a few friends, to leave time for studies.”

Ah, that was what had him cracking up like that. He was goading me.

I stretched out my hand. “Bunce, isn’t it? You sit three seats ahead of us in Greek, don’t you?”

She shot Simon a knowing look, like they had an inside joke. Why did I hate that? “Yes, I do. You and Simon and I are in a few of the same classes, actually.”

***

Part of me really liked having Bunce around. It was good for Simon to have a friend apart from me, Dev, and Niall. With the exception of Niall, we’d more or less grown up together and knew what to expect from each other (Including the prattishness Dev seemed to be capable of as of late), Bunce was a change of pace for us both and proved to be a lesson on independent socialization.  She was a sharp, keen mind, as well. Studying with her helped push me forward - she gave some someone to compete with (Pitches are famously competitive) (and we also like to keep an eye on our competition). Sometimes I wondered if she was  _ too _ sharp, of course. Maybe she was  _ too _ observant. 

In the late winter of our first year, we’d been planning to study together for final exams, the three of us. Of course, Simon’s grabbed his football bag instead of his school bag (“They’re the same  _ colour _ Baz!”) and we’d made a detour on the way to the library to fetch it from our room. Bunce and I waited outside, breathing into our hands and discussing what her older brothers’ had told her about they exams they’d sat for for Ms. Possibelf’s classes. The moment Simon’d come back down, though, we turned to face him and heard a loud crack from the moat, under the bridge and to our right. A bleeding merwolf jumped up to take a snap at Simon (what the  _ hell _ ?) and I reached out for him, instinctually, smelling the acrid smoke of his magic and fear lacing. I skimmed around the beast (they stink something foul) and grabbed for Simon’s shoulder, wand out. I could see Bunce on the far side of the thing, raising her ring, searching her mind for a spell. She didn’t need one, though. The moment my hand made contact with Simon, I raised my wand. I was able to cast the thing away easily, and turned Simon in my grasp to look him over. He was still panicking - but the smell of smoke was getting less intense. I was glad he was calming down so quickly, at any moment, his fingers would have started sparking. I knew what he was worried about, of course, and I was worried too. Penelope Bunce was  _ right there _ . If she noticed anything odd about any of it… if she had any reason to question why a merwolf would lunge or how I could cast it off so easily or why Simon gave off an aura of pressure and brimstone… things could get harder for us, quickly. She’d run right up to us after the merwolf dove back into the water, and was holding herself back a little from Simon, apprehensively. 

I couldn’t spare a word for her, yet, though. “Simon?” I said. His eyes followed mine, good - he wasn’t so far gone. “Hey. It’s gone now.” I was still connected with him, enough to draw power and the  _ excess _ from him. It wasn’t too much - it barely even crackled down my nerves. He wasn’t going to go off, he was just having a run of the mill anxiety attack, which was completely understandable. 

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Baz.” He blinked and sighed. “That was wicked, mate. You got him to leave.” 

I smiled and shook my head. “Lucky turn.” 

Simon smirked and then shouldered his bag. 

“All right, Simon?” Bunce said, her voice gentle. 

Simon nodded, “Yeah. I guess I just froze. I’ve never seen a merwolf do that before. I thought they’d all be asleep under there.” We’d wondered before if perhaps the creatures’d been attracted to Simon’s magic… to his excess… There had been a run in with a small group of flibbertigibbets a few days before… maybe that was the case here, too. It was all so weird. 

I’d have to call Fiona later. 

Bunce pursed her lips, like she had questions of her own about all of it. It was what I was worried about.

Finally, though, she just said, “Me neither,” with a shrug.

She was a smart girl, she’d probably write this off and a once-off. But I worried what her continued presence in our lives would expose her to. I worried what questions it’d force her to ask. I worried about to whom she might pose these questions. 

***

“Well, the next step is easy then, isn’t it?” Fiona’s voice came from the speaker of my mobile later that night. Simon and I were on the floor between our beds in our pyjamas. We’d been discussing the events of the day and decided to loop our family in, for advice and support. 

“Is it, Fi?” Simon said, his voice was strong but I could see worry in his eyes. I was sure Fiona had sensed it, as well.

She scoffed. “Sure, boyo. Just get close to her. Find out where the Bunces stand, politically. You may not be able to keep her from questioning things she sees, but you could make sure it’s  _ you two _ she comes to for answers, when the time comes.” She paused then, “Or I suppose you could just cut her off all together. Solves the problem of he being around to take notice, doesn’t it?” 

At that Simon frowned. I was surprised to note that I was frowning, too. 

“Might be more suspicious, Aunt Fi,” I replied. Simon grinned at me and nodded. “To have her see something off and then just stop talking to her? Let’s just play this one out and see how it goes. We can cut her off at any time, it won’t do for us to make things harder on ourselves will it?”

Fiona hummed her agreement at me. “Right then. That’s settled.” I could hear  _ her _ settling. Probably on a sofa in her room with a bottle of something strong-smelling. “So, give me the gossip, then, boys. Any pretty girls in your year?”

  
Simon and I both rolled our eyes at Fiona pretending to be a kid with us ( _ for _ us, yes.)


	13. Summer After First Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin.

## Baz

It was a little bit odd to be home for the summer holiday, after our first year at Watford. Our days had always been scheduled tightly with tutors and lessons and family (and Family) functions… but it was different from the structure of school and I missed it. I thought Simon did, too, in his own way. Classes weren’t really his favourite thing, but I thought he appreciated them for the experience that they were, at least. 

That summer was much like all of those before, really. Except, of course, with the addition of Niall and Penelope. They came to visit fairly regularly, sometimes even coming up together. Niall’s mother had learned to drop him for the weekend with Dev, but Bunce’s mother (an intense but soft looking woman named Mitali) never left the grounds when she was here. Probably because Simon and I were male, and the whole thing would be deemed improper. Neither Simon or I really got it. Penny wasn’t a _girl_ … well. She was, of course, but there were no confusing pre-teen feelings there.

I hadn’t actually had _any_ of those feelings for anyone. I’d asked Simon if he’d fancied anyone, after Fi had teased us about it. He said he didn’t; that he wouldn’t even know what it would feel like to fancy someone. He supposed it might be something like how he feels for sour cherry scones, or the football pitch at school, maybe. He and I both figured that it wasn’t a big deal. Some boys were talking about girls, but not all of them. We had years to think about it, really. Most mages meet their spouses in school, since it’s the closest we usually get to groups of other mages, but that still gave us years to worry about it; seven of them. 

Daphne had given birth just before the end of term. I had a new half-sister named Mordelia. I wondered briefly if one of the naming criteria for Grimm children was that it had to sound like the name of a villain in a bad television drama. The baby was alright, though. Not as loud as I’d thought she might be, and nowhere near as smelly as you’d expect something that defecates in their own pants several times a day to be.

The only other thing that differed from last summer was, of course, the news. 

Slowly, over the last year, reports had come into the Coven about strange spots all over the country that were devoid of all magic. Mages traveling through them couldn’t cast even the simplest of spells inside of them and the air felt both heavy and hollow at the same time - the magical atmosphere had been somehow _punctured_ in these places. The last report came in sometime just after Christmas, so the theory was that whatever had been causing this was long-gone, but it was decided that there would be an inquiry and a team sent to investigate, just to be certain (the Coven loves an inquiry).

When Bunce called to say that her father (Professor Bunce, who specialised in studying the magical environment and atmosphere) (a boring field, to be sure) had been appointed to head the investigative team, we sent a congratulations bouquet to the Bunces (spelled against wilting, even left out of water. Both of the Professors Bunce could be a little scatterbrained, we were told). 

It had been shocking, upsetting news to the World of Mages, of course, but the Coven was taking action and seemed to be employing the best man (a leader in his boring field) for the job. Things would work out. By the time second year began, most people had all but forgotten about the dead spots. 

The nagging pit of my stomach, though, never really let me join them in that forgetfulness. Something about it was off, and there was no way for me to see _what_ that was, no matter how long I thought on the problem. More information was needed, I thought, to see. Not just for _me_ to see, but probably for Professor Bunce and the rest of the researchers. But in order to acquire more data, more dead spots would have to appear, and that was a research development that no one wanted. Perhaps not knowing was the better alternative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno man. I just do the things.
> 
> https://belalugosiisdead.tumblr.com/


	14. Caution, Not Clairvoyance

## Simon

Baz thought that we should have seen this coming. He was probably right. He _usually_ was right. He knew as soon as the Mage approached me on the lawn on a Friday morning before class that trouble would follow.

I’d been on the phone with Fiona. She was heading to see a friend in Beijing whom she thought might have some useful research, and had called to check in with us before she was out of the country for (at least) a week or two.

We’d told her that it was business as usual at Watford, and she told us a stream of colorful jokes she’d learned in Mandarin. (I will never know how the Pitches pick up languages so fast. After that phone call, Baz put both Mandarin and Cantonese on his list. I had no doubt he’d be fluent before we graduated.)

It was as we laughed and disconnected the call that the Mage approached us. 

“Who were you speaking to, just now, Simon?” 

I looked at Baz in my periphery, raising a brow. We’d been on speaker phone (of course having warned Fi that we were walking across campus to class). It wasn’t a secret.

“My guardian, Fiona Pitch, sir.”

“And do you think it’s entirely appropriate to have a cellular phone in class, Mr. Snow?” he asked, suddenly stern. 

“I keep it powered off and charging in our room, usually, sir. I only have it on me because Fiona called and I didn’t want to make myself late to class. I will have it powered off and zipped into my bag while I am in my lessons,” I replied, trying not to look as confused as I felt. “Which we should be getting to, actually. If you’ll excuse us, sir?” 

I grabbed Baz’s forearm and tugged him to come with me; I needed to get out of this conversation and away from my father. I hadn’t been planning on speaking to him again anytime soon. 

I heard from behind us, “See that it is, Mr. Snow.” I raised both my brows at Baz and shook my head. Weird.

## Baz

I should have seen it coming, really. The Mage had acted so peculiarly about Simon talking on his mobile as he walked across campus, and he had only gotten stranger after learning it was Aunt Fiona on the line. 

By Sunday evening, we’d been notified (by email, ironically) that all forms of technology were to be kept inside our dorm rooms at all times. The rule was absurdly unnecessary. Most students had mobile phones and laptops, but the cellular signal at Watford was abysmal - we mostly just used our devices for contacting home and typing out assignments or playing DVDs. Simon and I rolled our eyes at the message, almost in tandem. What was the point?

The point was made clear over the holiday break, however. The restrictions hadn’t been final - they’d been a precursor. While we were at home, enjoying a break from lumpy beds and too-easy (at least for me) classes, Father and Fiona received a message from the Mage. All students were ordered to leave any laptops, mobile phones, PDAs, tablets, or any other personal electronic devices at home. They (read: he) was instituting a technology-ban at Watford, in order to make occasion for the students to practice magical means of communicating and the “dying art of handwriting.”

“He’s absolutely mad if he thinks for a moment you’re going to live away from us without a mobile phone, Basilton,” my aunt said in a huff at Christmas lunch. Daphne sighed, having already asked her and Father to keep to pleasant conversation at holiday meals. 

“Was his madness in question?” Simmon muttered, poking at his whipped potatoes. “Speaking as his actual science experiment.” I don’t think Daphne or Father heard him, and that was for the best. 

Fiona, however, lifted her eyes to the ceiling, as if she were asking for patience. She’d heard. He’d get a talking to later, as well, I was sure. I, personally, settled for kicking his shin. I didn’t even kick very hard. Simon wasn’t eating - that meant he was feeling down enough, as it was.

Aunt Fi paraded on, throwing her hands in the air, dramatically. 

“How many times have you been attacked on Watford grounds, hm?” 

I waited, unsure if she was actually expecting an answer. After a moment, SImon said:

“Two.”

I huffed a laugh. “That’s just since term began. You’ve been attacked six times since the beginning of first year.”

“We have.”

“Hm?” I lifted my eyes and looked over at him.

“You were attacked right there with me, Baz,” he said, again, sounding sad. I hated the way my gut twisted when he wouldn’t make eye contact with me. What to do?

I reached out tentatively with my magic and found Simon’s. He was definitely morose, but when he felt my prodding and responded to it, I could feel the lightness within. It was a great relief to know that his sadness was just the usual, passing, exterior type.

Simon had told me before, many times, that he sometimes feels guilty about ‘dragging me into all of this.’ I’ve made it very clear, though, that I’ve never been dragged _any_ where. He’s my family, and that means more to me than anything else. I chose to stand with him, and I would keep choosing it. No matter what the consequences might be. That wasn’t what had typically placated him, though. What soothed him was me pointing out that he would undoubtedly do the same for me. 

Because of course he would. He always had, albeit in less extreme ways (usually involving an offhand comment about my “condition”).

A harrumph from my Aunt and a jerky nod from my Father, agreeing with Simon’s assessment, brought me back to the present. The conversation was over, but that did't mean Fiona and my Father were done - not by a long shot.

Mordelia squealed, drawing my attention, and shoved a handful of some kind of mushy vegetable into her mouth, missing it nearly entirely. Daphne smiled as though it were the most important thing on the planet. To her, it probably was. 

My thoughts turned, as they often do, but especially at Christmas, to my own Mother. In general, she was revered as serious and sharp, but I had known her soft, warm, silly side. I had seen my mother grin at me when I presented her with crude drawings for her home-office walls. I knew the way her voice dipped into honey when she called me her “Little Puff.” 

For just a moment, in my mind, the image of Mordelia in her chair was replaced with a tiny dark-haired baby boy, and my Mother sat where Daphne did, leaning over and smiling like she was witnessing something fantastic. Smiling at me with warm eyes - with love. 

Without speaking, I wished her a Happy Christmas. The clench of my heart in my chest felt like she might be saying it back.


	15. Scheduled Shouting-Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mission....? Accomplished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. I've given up on a schedule at all, but you can all rest assured that this will continue to be updated, even if at a glacial pace.

##  Baz

I hated sitting outside the Mage’s office. When I was smaller, it had been my Mother’s. Being there had once meant comfort and a sense of home, but now it was awkward and uncomfortable - equal parts sad and infuriating. I loathed the man that polluted the few memories I had of her. 

Simon sat next to me, but didn’t speak to me or attempt eye contact; he was just  _ there _ , anchoring me with his presence. His shoulder occasionally brushed against mine, and I could feel the hum of his magic. The way it had become almost instinctual for us to reach out with our magic instead of our hands sometimes took me aback. He and I would never really need to be overt - we could silently and solidly lend ourselves to one another. It was a bond I cherished above everything - I think we both did.

Our reverie was broken when Fiona stormed up to us, late, as usual, and wearing an outfit that looked like she’d fallen asleep in it -- in the late 1970’s or early 1980’s.

She motioned us to follow with a jerk of her chin, and then walked through the door without a knock or so much as a greeting.

“First I find out that the students of Watford are no longer  _ safe _ , and then I find out that they’re not even permitted to call for help, or tell their families that they’ve been attacked or injured. What exactly are you playing at,  _ David _ ?”

The Mage blustered and cleared his throat and I loved my aunt even more than I had before. 

“Miss Pitch, it is customary to wait to be invited into someone’s office before barging in and shouting.”

She rolled her eyes at him and plopped into a seat. There were only two, so rather than leaving one of us standing, Simon and I stood at the wall near the door, feeling out of place - interested flies on a wall.

“We had an appointment. That counts as an invitation.”

“Well, it is also customary to  _ knock _ .”

“Stop avoiding my question, David. I haven’t actually got all day.”

The Mage then rolled  _ his _ eyes. “I’m not playing at anything. The students aren’t being barred from communicating with their families, just being made to use magical means. They’re free to, for instance, send a bird.”

“Ha! Right. Because every student can cast that spell.”

“This is the place for them to learn, Miss Pitch.”

Another laugh from Fi, this time more mirthful. “Is that so? So while mummies and daddies are waiting for their first and second years to learn, they just have to wait?”

The Mage opened his mouth, but wasn’t given an opportunity to reply. 

“Tell me, when the next creature crawls out of the woods and goes for my nephew’s or ward’s throat, are they meant to send a bird about that, too? If they can’t fight it off and need help, are they meant to pause in the defence of themselves and their classmates and cast a little bird…? Morganna forbid that their elocution is off, due to fear or stress. It’s really too bad that there is no such thing as a device, small enough to be kept in pockets, that can contact help with the press of a button, such a thing would require no extra thought at all.”

Simon caught his laugh and attempted to pass it off as a cough. I openly smirked.

The Mage glared at us.

“The students, including these two, are completely safe, Miss Pitch. We strengthened the protections on the school and even placed new wards as of New Year.” 

Anniversaries and holidays, my mind supplied, are good for doing powerful bits of magic. The combined energy of the entire country, or even sometimes the world, is focused on that day. It was a good time to set new wards up.

“Right. Very safe. Basilton and Simon have been attacked six times since they started school here. Even the bloody  _ merewolves _ took a shot at them - from inside your protections and wards. You’ll forgive me if I’m not utterly convinced of their safety.”

“Have you considered, Miss Pitch, that the boys have been the  _ only _ students that have been directly attacked on school grounds? When other students have been involved, they’ve reported that the offending creatures seem to be bothering them only to get to Simon and Tyrannus.” I glared.

“It’s Basilton, sir.” Simon couldn’t help himself. “Or Mr. Pitch, if you like. He doesn’t like to be called by his first name.” 

Fiona smiled over her shoulder and the Mage sighed, looked down at me where I stood, somehow, though being seated himself.

“Fine, then. Misters Snow and Pitch seem to be the only targets of the attacks, Miss Pitch. Perhaps we should consider what they’re doing to incur the wrath of these creatures or how they’re letting them pass our wards.”

This time I interrupted, “Oh, right! Yes.” I smacked Simon’s upper arm with the back of my hand. “I’d totally forgotten about our sworn enemies, the flibbertigibbets, and mistakenly invited them to  _ tea _ . My mistake. Ever so sorry.”

Simon snorted at me, and we shared a grin. The Mage looked ready to burst. 

“Their unabashed cheek aside, David, you can’t seriously think that these lads are calling magical creatures here to attack them. What good would that do them? It’s only served to make the rules are wards tighter. Scrutiny of them both is increased. There’s no benefit.” Fiona lifted a brow.

“Perhaps it’s not about a direct gain for them, rather a long play made by you and your lot.” 

“My lot?” Both of her brows were up. If she looked at  _ me _ that way, I knew I was in for it. I wondered if David had an inkling.

He shrugged. “Families.” His hands folded, like a villain’s. “Maybe they’d like for me to look incompetent - like a fool - incapable of protecting my charges.”

My aunt’s hands flailed dismissively. “Ha! If we wanted to make you look bad, we’ve more direct and damaging routes to go in.” She glanced slowly back at Simon, meaningfully. “Besides, Basilton is a Pitch. He’s the very  _ last _ Pitch descendant, myself omitted. Simon is the youngest Salisbury. Why would we risk them on a fool's errand? These two might be better suited to protecting themselves than some of the other students, but they’re still vulnerable.” 

“What do you mean by that, better suited?”

She smiled, slowly. “I  _ mean _ , as powerful and well-educated as these lads are, they’re second year students. We cannot reasonably expect them to defeat every magical miscreant that makes it past you, no matter how confident you are. The sad truth is, no matter how much you’d like them and their families to be culpable, that they’ve been lucky and you’ve been negligent. Taking their mobiles away is just adding more liability to the lunacy.”

Fiona was brilliant. We knew she wasn’t likely to get the Mage to back down regarding the use of technology on school property (Simon and I had already been gifted with mobile phones with advanced charms against detection placed on them), so I had wondered why she’d bothered with the scheduled shouting-match. It looked like Fiona was doing some reconnaissance, as well as making a show of how upset the Families were about the mobile ban.

She wanted to see if the Mage had caught on to the amounts of power Simon had.

Surely he had  _ some _ idea, right? We’d been at Watford for a year and a half. In that time, Simon had only  _ gone off _ a few times, thankfully never in the presence of any of the faculty or students (close calls notwithstanding... did Penny count, at this point? Those calls were always the closest, lately). But surely,  _ certainly _ , in the course of his classes or general practice of spellwork, someone had noted Simon’s raw power. Normally, a mage barely had to focus to feel it. People had been drawn to him for it and Normals seemed almost repelled. He was really quite remarkable, even without going supernova.

He shot my aunt a dry look. “I am well aware that you lot think of yourselves as magical royalty, Miss Pitch, but sadly, that does not equate to magical superiority. Both Basilton and Simon are reasonably gifted and very good students, but whether or not they are magical prodigies remains to be seen. They are, however, more than capable of sending for help, magically.”

Reasonably gifted good students my  _ arse _ . 

I had to let that go, though. What he thought mattered very little, except in the matter of what he’d said about  _ Simon _ . “Reasonably gifted” might be mildly insulting, but it put us in the clear. Somehow, he hadn’t realised that my best mate was a nuclear reactor or that we were capable of tapping into each other’s magics. 

Simon looked up at me with a hint of confusion, but I waved him off. I’d explain it all later, in private, if he needed. Instead, I watched intently as my aunt smirked and made her final insults and promises that he’d not heard the last of the matter. 

She knew something. 

  
I decided that what she knew, however, didn’t matter at that moment. This meeting, frustrating as it may have been, had gone  _ brilliantly _ . 

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno man. I just do the things.
> 
> https://belalugosiisdead.tumblr.com/


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